


Twisting Shadows

by Nathamuel



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Sex, Coping, M/M, Nightmares, Other, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathamuel/pseuds/Nathamuel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a testament to how much the Mount Massive Asylum had fucked with his head that the sight of the <i>Walrider</i> beside his bed was a <i>comfort</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisting Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofthefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofthefox/gifts).



> This was for seriouslyjustfuckthisplace's birthday, which was months ago. Sorry, my dear! :( Also, I didn't feel like writing anything dark, even though this fandom invites such things.

Miles couldn’t move.

Hands were reaching for him in the dark and he trashed against their restraining grip. They clawed and tore at his skin and spilled his blood on the floor. Somewhere in the darkness there was quiet sobbing and unintelligible mumbling. Screaming. 

Then heavy footsteps and the snip-snap of scissors joined the other sounds, made him jerk harder, trying to free himself, trying to get away. He wasn’t safe here. They would find him!

A scream caught in his throat. 

Nobody would help him. He was dying and he was alone, he was alone he was alone alone alone –

They had shot him –

Miles came to gasping for breath, his hands fisted in the sheets and his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest as his gaze darted wildly around the room. The sheets were twisted around his legs, immobilizing him. 

_Nononono where am I what happened no stay away from me,_ his thoughts rushed past too quickly for him to grasp and only when his fingers grazed against the gun under his pillow, did his heart deign to slow its pace. Wetness covered his cheeks and for a wild moment he thought it must have been raining. 

Sweat cooled on his skin and he trembled, but not from the cold. With a click the lamp flooded the room with light, throwing sharp shadows on the wall where the light couldn’t reach. Miles blinked against the sudden brightness, almost expected to find the doctor waiting in a corner.  
His heart seized at the thought, but where was –

It was a testament to how much the Mount Massive Asylum had fucked with his head that the sight of the _Walrider_ beside his bed was a _comfort_. The Walrider cocked his head at Miles, as if in question, like Miles was a puzzle he couldn’t work out. Outside the little room there was the rush of a busy street. 

The last traces of panic left him in a rush that left him reeling and Miles fell back against the bed, still panting. His shorts clung to him like a second skin and with a grunt of disgust he stripped them off, kicking the sheets over the edge of the mattress in the process. Left-over adrenaline let his hands tremble and he balled them into fists until they stopped.

The room’s air was stale. He’d have to get up soon and open a window to let a cool night’s breeze in. But not yet. Miles closed his eyes and startled at the touch on his head only a moment later.

One of the Walrider’s half-skeletal hands stroked over his head in what Miles supposed was a soothing gesture, which was so strange it made him snort out an unexpected laugh.

The creature had probably learned that in the month Miles had locked himself up in his flat, nursing his wounds both the physical and mental ones. The TV had run almost constantly, while Miles had tried to forget that place and piece himself back together, the Walrider always at his side.

The touch was light enough to almost tickle, even though the Walrider could kill him in a heartbeat. So far it hadn’t. No sense in killing its host, Miles supposed. The thought shouldn’t be comforting, but it was. Guess I’ve become mad after all, Miles thought and leaned into the touch with a sigh. He laid a hand on his chest and looked at the Walrider. If it weren’t for the half-skeletal hands and feet and lack of a face, one could almost call the creature attractive with its muscular and masculine form. 

Miles supposed that the question of why a swarm of nanites had chosen this form would stay unanswered forever unless the Walrider learned to talk.  
Maybe Billy had dreamed it up like this.

_Don’t go there…_

“Did you sleep well at least?” Miles asked into the silence of his bedroom, addressing the Walrider. Not that it would answer him, but sometimes he liked to be polite, or at least pretend that he was. His hands hurt, despite the healed-over wounds and he touched them gingerly, massaging the skin underneath where his fingers ended abruptly, balling them into fists when that called up unpleasant memories.

_Don’t go there!_

No more sleep then, even though he hadn’t had a decent night since Mount Massive -- _that place_.

“Didn’t think so,” Miles said after a while. The smile felt strange on his face, and brittle, but what else was there to do when the Walrider awkwardly petted your hair again. Sometimes he theorized that the Walrider took on traits of its host, although he could barely remember being sweet with others. It all felt so long ago, like a completely different life.

“You know, you’re not half bad when you’re not killing anyone,” Miles sighed, eyes closing halfway, ears still straining for any sounds that could mean danger. The sounds of the rushing street outside meant civilization.

He opened his eyes to the shadows around him when the Walrider made a low rumbling sound. Miles knew that sound. And it’s meaning.

“You’re pretty insatiable,” Miles hummed, but didn’t move even as the Walrider left his side to hover him.

Truth to be told, he couldn’t remember the first time clearly but the last two weeks it had happened every couple of days. Maybe the Walrider had acted on an impulse Miles had send, maybe it had acted on some independent thought. Right now, Miles couldn’t care less. 

He liked to call it stress relief. In the end, he just wanted to forget for a little while even though the mere presence of the Walrider made that impossible, but the corner of his mind that told him to be scared grew smaller every day the Walrider didn’t hurt him. It had healed him. There were scars in the shape of bullet holes littering his chest proving that. 

A shiver of anticipation ran through him and he shifted his back against the bed.

Miles laid his hands flat against the sheets as shadowy tentacles rose up from the bed on either side of him, controlled by the Walrider, who let out another low noise.  
It sounded almost pleased. Miles’ muscles contracted when the first tentacle touched him.

They were cool to the touch, but warming as some of them slithered over his legs and arms. Little ones curled around his fingers (as if the Walrider was holding his hand…)  
Miles let himself be moved. He didn’t resist when his legs were pulled apart and bend at the knees, his feet put flat against the bed. 

Panting, he looked up at the Walrider. Little tentacles touched his throat. It was watching him.  
Inexplicably, that aroused him. The tentacles continued on their way, sliding over his chest and belly in serpentine patterns. Miles smiled when they dipped almost playfully into his belly button, tickling him. 

“Come on,” he grunted. He wanted them farther down. Hell if he knew how to ask, though.  
He sighed when their cool and smooth surface touched his nipples and they hardened. The tentacles circled around them and _tightened_ , making him gasp and arch his back.

“Ah.” Miles panted. “Wait.” Some of the tentacles were nudging at his hole, feeling impossibly big. “Wait.”

As always it was astonishing when the Walrider stopped when asked, because if there was something the Walrider wasn’t, it was nice and emphatic. Confusingly, he was those things to Miles. Most days.

“Go slow. Start small, will you,” Miles reminded him, wiggling a little in the grip the bigger tentacles had on his arms and legs. The ones at his hole moved away to the inside of his thighs.

“Thanks.” Miles whispered, testing the hold they had on his limbs. The Walrider tilted its head, but didn’t move. Miles closed his eyes to escape that unnerving stare. 

The tentacles around his nipples contracted, drawing a whimper out of him.  
His chest heaved as tentacles slid over his ribs and down again, dipping into his bellybutton while others curled around waist and the ridge of his pelvis.

A moan, overly loud in the silence, escaped him as one tentacle slid cool and smooth over his cock, wrapping around it slowly. The Walrider made another one of its noises that Miles had come to associate with contentment, if it was possible for the swarm of nanites to feel that. Either way it seemed pleased. 

Miles back arched and he opened his eyes again to look down his body. The shadows were a sharp contrast against his skin, almost black and slightly transparent.

With a “hng” Miles let his head fall back again when the tentacles pumped his cock. His toes curled against the sheets, thighs tensing against the shadows’ hold.

“Now, come on. Do it,” he moaned and a moment later small tentacles were pressing against his ass, one pushing in. They felt slightly slick, slick enough to make them go in with ease.

“Ah.” Miles hissed when a second one joined it and they pumped into him. His eyes squeezed shut when they touched his prostate, mouth falling open. How the fuck did the Walrider found that spot so unerringly every time? He wondered only for a moment, before every thought was pushed away. Another tentacle slid over his cheek and used the opportunity to slip between his lips, pressingly gently down on his tongue.

In counter rhythm the tentacles in his ass slid against each other and moved over his cock. He wouldn’t, couldn’t last long, not with the pace the Walrider was setting. They felt like they were _growing_ inside of him.

With a choked wail Miles spilled messily over his own stomach, clenching down around the pressure being applied to his hole as the Walrider’s tentacles milked every drop of come from him.

Then they receded while Miles panted for breath. His muscles felt like putty and he sighed when the last one left his body, but didn’t leave completely. Some of the tentacles caressed his skin softly. The bigger ones loosened their hold until they weren’t restraining him anymore. Miles slid his fingers through the small puddle on his belly. Another layer of sweat dried on his skin and goose bumps covered him at the chill.

Only inches separated him from the Walrider, still hovering over him, but closer than before.

Miles’ grin was loose and sex-stupid when he reached up and laid his hands against either side of the Walrider’s face. He smeared come over its cheek before pulling it down and pressing a kiss to the lower half of its face where its mouth would have been.


End file.
